


Amongster

by StarlingJedi



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Episode: s01e18 Identity Crisis, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3997135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlingJedi/pseuds/StarlingJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You know,” Fusco remarked, “when you told me – and I quote – ‘Finch is in trouble’… this wasn’t exactly the scenario I was imagining.”</em>
</p><p>Reese looks after Finch in the aftermath of being drugged, and comes to some realizations about himself and his friendship with Finch.  Missing scenes from episode 1x18 "Identity Crisis".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amongster

**Author's Note:**

> I had been debating whether or not to post this for a while, as there's so many other really good "Identity Crisis" tags out there, but during chat tonight on the Person of Interest Discussion Forum, talkingtothesky encouraged me to go ahead and post it. So... here it is, Sky. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Unbeta'ed, so any mistakes or OOC moments are completely mine...

"You know," Fusco remarked, "when you told me – and I quote – ‘Finch is in trouble’... this wasn’t exactly the scenario I was imagining." Glaring at Reese, he added, "You could have _warned_ me, you know."

Reese didn’t say anything. He _couldn’t_. The sight of Finch swaying in time to the music blasting out of the car – and singing along, from the looks of it – simply defied description.

"What happened?" Reese finally asked.

"Beats the hell out of me. I go into that apartment expecting to find our perp holding him at gunpoint, and instead I find Mr. Happy here dancing in front of a microwave that was seconds away from catching fire."

" _Dancing_?"

"Yeah. _Dancing_. I found an empty tumbler in the living room, but I don’t think he’s drunk. I think our drug lord must have slipped something into his drink – probably some of that ecstasy she’d been cooking up. I dropped the glass by the lab to be sure."

Reese raised his eyebrows at Fusco. "And you left him in the car – _alone_?"

"What’d you expect me to do, drag him along with me? I figured the radio would keep him occupied enough – he’s pretty easily amused right now."

Shaking his head, Reese turned back toward Finch, who was leaned back in his seat, waving his hands through the air like he was conducting an orchestra. At least the bizarre conversation they’d had just before their connection was abruptly cut off – dopamine, Charles Dickens, and being outfoxed – made a little more sense now. "What else did he do?"

"Well, he played around with the buttons on the CB and turned on my siren... I tried to get him to focus on _our_ task, but when I handed him my laptop so he could look for Eckhart, all he wanted to do was get me into trouble!"

"Get _you_ into trouble, Lionel? I thought you were perfectly capable of doing that on your own."

"Yeah, very funny," Fusco snapped. "He asked me if I wanted to hack the Pentagon – and knowing him, he would have done it, too! With _my_ laptop!"

Reese glanced at Fusco. "Lionel. Where’s that laptop now?"

"Locked in the trunk where he can’t get to it. I’m not an _idiot_ , you know."

Suppressing a sigh, Reese walked over to the car and opened the passenger’s side door. Finch stopped what he was doing – whatever in the hell it was he was doing – and turned in his seat to look up at him. His eyes lit up at the sight of Reese. "Heeeeey!" he said cheerfully. "There you are! My best-est best friend. Hey, there’s someone I wanted to introduce you to..."

"Come on, Finch, let’s get you home," Reese said, fighting to keep the smile off his face as he gently pulled him out of Fusco’s cruiser and led him toward his own car.

"Awwww, can’t it wait until the song’s over?" Finch whined, trying – futilely – to pull away from him. "The ending’s the best part!"

"You can listen to the radio in my car," Reese told him, firmly guiding him to the vehicle in question and coaxing him inside. Fusco watched them, shaking his head in what looked like disbelief and wry amusement before turning away to get in his cruiser.

Reese got into the driver’s seat and – after having to remind Finch to buckle up – started the car and headed for the Library.

"Where’re we going now?" Finch asked giddily.

"Home." Well, the Library _technically_ wasn’t Finch’s home – Reese still didn’t know where the reclusive billionaire lived – but it was close enough.

"Ah, c’mon; you’re no fun!" Finch complained.

"I think you’ve had enough fun for one night. Here." Reese reached over and turned on the radio. "Listen to some music."

Finch stared down at the radio for a moment, then leaned forward and started punching the preset buttons. Reese gritted his teeth impatiently as the radio jumped from station to station in a schizophrenic burst of random music. Finally, Finch leaned back, slumping in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

"Something wrong?"

"Your car’s not as fun as Fusco’s."

Reese debated for a moment as to whether he wanted to reply to that. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, "Why is that?"

"’Cuz it don’t have all the pretty little lights!"

Reese let out a single snort of laughter before he could restrain himself. He quickly bit down on his lips to keep from losing it entirely – poor Finch probably didn’t even realize how ridiculous he sounded right now – but couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face. "Sorry about that," he managed to say.

The song that had been currently playing on the radio ended, and a new song began. Finch straightened up, his pout over the lack of "pretty little lights" evaporating instantly. "Ooh, I love this song!" he announced, reaching over and cranking the volume up. Reese took a deep breath at the sudden assault on his eardrums, and quietly reminded himself to be patient, that none of this was _really_ Finch’s fault.

And then Finch starting singing:

 

" _Amongst the trees, amongst my freedom_

_My hands are red, I have been bleeding._

_What will happen, what will happen_

_When I seduce you, teacher?_ "

 

Reese glanced at Finch. _This is an odd song for him to be singing._ Of course, the fact that he was singing at all was very unusual behavior for him. Absently, he wondered if there would have been _any_ situation not involving MDMA where he would have had the opportunity to hear Finch sing.

 

" _Yes to Greyhound rides, no to you by my side._

_I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone._

_Come back... come back..._ "

 

In the break before the next verse, Finch turned to Reese. "Come on, sing with me!" he pleaded.

Again, Reese had to do everything in his power not to laugh at Finch. "Sorry, I don’t know this song," he said.

"Oh, okay." Shrugging indifferently, Finch continued as the next verse began:

 

" _Fire burning down at monastery road,_

_Why’d you do it, lover, throwing matches in my home?_

_Oh, how I begged him to take other women on,_

_But he don’t know where to turn, he don’t know who to call on._

_Is that all... is that all...?_ "

 

Suddenly, Finch lost interest in the song, his focus caught by something they’d just passed. "Oh, there’s that bookstore! Hey, can we stop there for a minute? There’s a book I really want to get..."

"No," Reese quickly said. Finch was in absolutely no condition to be out in public right now.

"Why _not_?" Finch whined petulantly. "Come on. Please? Please-please-please-please- _pleeeeeeeease_?"

Reese stifled a groan. No wonder Fusco looked ready to kill Finch.  "No," he repeated, a little more emphatically.  _Not his fault,_ he reminded himself. _He didn’t ask to be drugged; this is not his fault_.

"Please? Please? Please? Come on, it’s just one book. Please? Please? Please? Please? Plea—"

" _Fine_ ," Reese relented, turning the car around. _I hope I don’t regret this_. " _One_ book, and then we’re going home. Got it?"

"Yup." Finch gave a little bounce in his seat. "Thank you!"

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Reese finally got Finch back to the Library. The first thing Finch said when he stepped inside was look around and remark, "Whoa... why didn’t you tell me I had so many books?"

At this point, Reese was no longer either amused or annoyed; he was simply tired. "It’ll be out of your system in a few hours," he said; this was more a reminder to _himself_ than anything, as Finch didn’t seem to really care either way. Handing him the six-pack of water he’d carried up the stairs, he added, "But you should really drink this, so you don’t get dehydrated."

Finch took the water, studying it bewilderedly. He looked back up at Reese, a hurt expression on his face. "You’re leaving?" He sounded dejected.

Reese smiled as he handed him a blanket. "I’ll stick around, keep an eye on you," he promised. "But you should really get some sleep."

"You don’t want to talk?" Finch asked, confused.

Reese actually hesitated. Finch never had been much of a conversationalist; this sudden inclination to talk was probably just the ecstasy. "You might regret it in the morning," he finally said. "You’re a very private person, remember?"

He started to leave when Finch called after him. "Come _on_ ," he said enticingly. "Ask me _anything_!"

For a moment, Reese actually considered it. All these months, he’d been trying to find out who Harold Finch really was. Poking around the Library, following him, even having Fusco investigate all his known aliases... and now, Finch was willing to tell him anything he wanted to know. _Begging_ him to ask him whatever he wanted to know.

But as he looked at Finch and saw the look of almost childlike _trust_ in his eyes, Reese realized that he couldn’t go there. If it weren’t for the ecstasy, Finch would _never_ be this willing to divulge all his secrets to him.

Earlier that evening, Finch had called Reese his "best-est best friend". Reese wasn’t sure how much of that expression was real and how much of it was simply due to being high, but... if he was really such a good friend, then he never would have even _considered_ taking advantage of Finch like that.

"Good night, Harold," Reese said with a note of finality, turning and heading deeper into the Library.

The response was so faint that Reese wasn’t a hundred percent sure he’d really heard it. "Good night, Nathan..."

 _Nathan_. Reese faltered a bit at that name. _Nathan... Nathan Ingram? His MIT classmate – and that kid’s father?_

He remembered a photograph hidden in a book, a picture of two college students grinning proudly at the camera. _In the beginning... N.I._

The realization suddenly struck him. Back when they’d first started working together, Reese had asked Finch what had changed between programming the Machine to delete the irrelevant Numbers and his present crusade to save them... to which Finch had replied, _"Let’s just say you’re not the only one that’s lost someone."_

Reese knew that Nathan Ingram had been killed back in 2010... and clearly he’d been a close friend. _That_ was Finch’s motivation.

Another recent admonishment from Finch: _"Careful what you look for, Mr. Reese, or you might find it."_

The sound of shuffling footsteps drew his attention, along with Finch’s voice drifting through the shelves of dusty book. Reese took a few steps back, wanting to stay hidden lest Finch decide to start talking of his own volition.

As he came within earshot, Reese could hear him singing again, the same song that he’d sung in the car:

 

" _Yes to Greyhound rides, no to you by my side._

_I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone._

_Come back... come back..._ "

 

There was more emotion in his voice as he sang this time, a sense of overwhelming sadness and loss. Given his recent epiphany, combined with Finch’s parting statement, Reese now had a pretty good notion as to why.

Finch wandered among the shelves, not even noticing that Reese was following him. He stopped at one shelf, picking up a book and flipping it open. But he wasn’t reading it; he was looking for something tucked within the pages.

It was the photo.

Setting the book back on the shelf, Finch leaned against the wall, studying the picture. His voice echoed through the Library:

 

" _Apologies like birds in the sky,_

_And even they are falling like the tears in my eyes._

_Everyone’s asking... everyone’s asking..._ "

 

He trailed off as he gingerly touched the surface of the photograph, running his fingers across the slick face. Behind his glasses, unshed tears glistened in the pale moonlight streaming in through the windows.

Finch’s voice rose once more, with such power and emotion behind it that it nearly brought Reese to tears as well:

 

" _Apologies like the birds in the skies,_

_And even they are falling like the tears in my eyes._

_Everyone’s asking, ‘Where’s your child in this plan?’_

_Why you gonna ask me if I’d cut off my own hand?_

_Is that all... is that all?_

_Sly, you’re a liar!_

_Your words are not enough..._

_Sly, you’re still a liar!_

_I need you to be rough..._ "

 

The rest of the song dissolved into tears as Finch sank to the ground, hugging the picture to his chest as he cried. After a brief moment of deliberation, Reese approached him, resting a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"I’m so sorry," Finch sobbed. Reese wasn’t sure who he was talking to at first, but his question was quickly answered when Finch continued, "I’m sorry, Nathan... I’m _so_ , so sorry..."

"Come on, Harold," Reese said, carefully prying the photo out of Finch’s hands and tucking it back in the book. He gently pulled Finch to his feet and led him back to the main room. "Let’s get you to bed."

There wasn’t exactly a bed to be found in the Library; the last time he’d found Finch sleeping here, it had been in his computer chair with his upper body slumped across the desk – and Reese had observed him wincing in pain afterward. Making do with what was on hand, he fashioned a makeshift bed on the floor with one of his suit jackets and the blanket. He made sure Finch drank at least part of a bottle of water before helping him settle down to go to sleep.

As Reese set Finch’s glasses on the computer desk and tucked him in, Finch blinked up at him wearily. "Are you leaving again?"

"I already told you that I’d stay here tonight and keep an eye on you." After a moment, Reese added, "Finch... you _do_ realize that I’m not Nathan, right?"

"I know," Finch replied mournfully. "Nathan’s gone." He closed his eyes, tears falling from his eyes once more. "I wish I could tell him I was sorry..."

Reese felt his chest tighten. He wished Finch would stop already; he didn’t want to hear this – not in this situation, anyway. Maybe once Finch had sobered up and was actually willing to tell him about his past, but not right now. "Wherever he is now, I’m sure he already knows," he said soothingly, hoping the words would both console Finch and curtail any further details from spilling out of his mouth. He patted Finch’s shoulder and stood back up. "Go to sleep, Harold."

"I’ll try." Finch smiled up at Reese. "Good night."

"Good night."

Reese waited calmly just around the corner for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the Library. When he finally determined that Finch was asleep – judging from the steady rhythm of his breathing – he ventured back among the shelves, looking for that book. It had been _The Ghost in the Machine_ , if he wasn’t mistaken.

He found the book easily enough, pulling the picture out again and studying it. Nathan Ingram and Harold Finch – or rather, he was going by Harold _Wren_ at the time, according to Fusco. They looked happy.

" _Apologies like the birds in the skies... And even they are falling like the tears in my eyes..._ "

Feeling guilty for snooping – _that’s got to be a first_ – Reese quickly stuck the photo back inside the book and put it back on the shelf. As he headed off in search of someplace to settle down for the night, he wondered how much of the day’s events Finch would remember in the morning.

As Reese selected a giant overstuffed chair to sleep in – a remnant left over from when the Library had actually been open for the city’s residents to come read books in – he decided that, if Finch didn’t recall what had happened this evening, he’d omit anything about Nathan. Whatever story was behind the tears and the apologies, Reese would let Finch tell him about it on his own terms.

Closing his eyes, he let himself drift off to sleep, the lyrics of Finch’s song echoing through his mind...

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics are "Amongster" by Policia (which was used in the episode).


End file.
